


Into the Black

by LadyoftheSea



Series: Going a Little Mad [8]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masochism, Sadism, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheSea/pseuds/LadyoftheSea
Summary: What's life without a little pain?
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Reader, Joker (DCU)/You, Joker/You
Series: Going a Little Mad [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595734
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43
Collections: It Comes at Night





	Into the Black

**Author's Note:**

> _Lucifer:  
>  It may be that thou shalt be as we.  
> Cain:  
> And ye?  
> Lucifer:  
> Are everlasting.  
> Cain:  
> Are ye happy?  
> Lucifer:  
> We are mighty.  
> Cain:  
> Are ye happy?  
> Lucifer:  
> No: art thou?  
> _Lord Byron, _Cain: A Mystery. Act I._  
> 

How did you wind up here, he wonders. Were you always such a mess, so fucking _needy,_ or is it just him—does he do this to you?

Oh, that sends a jolt down to his cock—the thought that he's the only one who has this power over you. The only one who ever will. 

Mouth open as you gasp for air, your cunt tight around him as you squirm, he thinks he might want to do this forever. One taste of your mouth and he's drunk. One whiff of your hair and he's high. Your blood takes him to another plane. It coats your chest, coats his. Tacky and bittersweet, it's slowed since the initial cut, a red river following the curve of your ribs, the edge of your stomach. It's still wide, another mouth he wants to delve inside, feel against his tongue, chase the illusive divine. 

He reminds himself to ease his grip when you go slack, eyes rolling closed. He doesn't want you dead. Not yet. He does not do so out of a sense of pity, mercy. There is nothing about him that is merciful, and you ask for none. You _want_ none. 

He feels the stuttering beat of your heart against his skin, the staccato pulse. It's music, and he wants to make it sing. 

_This was your idea._

_He tried to be quiet when he came home, honest. His back was slouched with exhaustion, skin damp with a thin sheen of sweat and his jacket charred and bloodstained. Everything was covered in blood. He hardly took notice. It didn't matter—_ their _blood didn't matter._

_Something buzzed under his skin. Itchy and insistent. Hungry. Something thrummed in his chest. Viscous, black pitch. He could feel it bubbling in his throat, slowly, always slowly, dripping into his lungs._

_And then he saw you._

_You were naked on the bed encircled in moonlight, surrounded by darkness as black as the dark in him. A knife in your hand, held delicately between two fingers, kissed your chest. The tip rested just above your heart._

You reach and pull his hair, your grip almost as strong as his as you yank his head back. Desire melts his limbs into yours with each thrust. You're tighter than usual. Your grip is vicious. He rewards you with a low moan in your ear. 

_"J."_

_He wasn't sure if he had heard you or the whisper of some phantom, an apparition manifested from his basest dreams, his most delicious nightmares._

_"How do you know you're alive?" you asked, eyes fixed on some far point._ _Voice soft, ephemeral, you whisper, "How do you know if anything's real at all?"_

It's difficult to maintain his pace. He's never been one to go _slow._ You never had the patience for it, either. You're always so desperate for him, pulling him into your mouth, spreading your legs, bending over and offering your cunt. But tonight is different. _Special._ Driving himself as deep as he can go until you give him a little squeak before pulling back and waiting until you moan and whine, desperate. 

"You wanna tell me where it hurts?" he murmurs, mouth curled into a mocking grin against the soft skin of your neck, his voice a dark caress. 

You shudder. You whimper. You beg. 

_You had undressed him slowly, taking care with each button. Eyes otherworldly, he wondered if you were seeing him or some ghost. You touched his skin gently, like you were afraid he might break, like he'd disappear at the slightest breeze._

_"Help me feel real," you said, hard nipples grazing his bare chest. One finger played with a greasy curl. You were reverent, a parishioner praying to her god. "Please."_

"Is it here?" Your entire body spasms when his fingers dig into the first cut, pussy gripping his cock like you mean to never let him go as the blood slides down the curve of your chest. "Or _here_ , hmm?" His tongue finds the second cut, the one you made just above your breast, and presses inside.

If he let you have enough air, you would scream. 

_His hand wrapped around yours as you brought the knife to your skin. You just needed help with the first push, the breaking of the skin. You'd never been this bold before, explicitly invited so much pain. The way you moaned when you dragged the blade down had him hard. He wanted more. So did you._

_He licked the skin clean until the next wave of blood came as you started on the second, hand shaking without his to guide it. He doesn't remember when he slipped inside you, doesn't remember when you put his hand on your throat._

_"Make me real."_

"N-No more, J— _mm_!" you gasp, voice broken and scratchy. 

How long has it been? One hour, two? It doesn't matter.

"I thought you wanted to, uh, _learn_ ," he growls in your ear after a particularly hard thrust, bottoming out and driving the air from you. You're about to cum again. You're slick with it. Overwrought and undone. "Don't you, sweetheart?" 

"Can—can't breathe—" 

"Sure you can." His grip eases long enough for you to suck in a breath before the process repeats. "This here is… _important._ " 

You cry when you cum, back arched like a woman possessed, your nails creating rivers of red down his arms as they pierce his skin and burrow deep. His back is similarly marked. The skin cracks and weeps anew with every snap of his hips. He's close, so fucking close.

"Don't be scared," he murmurs, kissing you gently as his hand encircles your throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. 

But you are scared, aren't you? 

He smiles and it is wicked.

Finally, _finally,_ he feels alive. Tethered. He feels your life in his hands. You feel yours on the brink of slipping. After all, what kind of god would he be if life and death didn't walk together, hand in unlovable hand? 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is from a prompt that heartracer, anaisangel, whatiferightnow, and notcallingyoualiar and I came up with - "The Joker comes home late at night and finds something unexpected" and has to be under 1k. I've used it as a way to get back into writing for the series, so this is more of an outtake/deleted scene than a full-blown installment, but I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and comments are always welcome! 💗


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